


Cold (2p!F.A.C.E. x Child!Reader)

by CreepyLittleLullaby



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Child Reader, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, M/M, Neglect, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyLittleLullaby/pseuds/CreepyLittleLullaby
Summary: Hetalia Reader InsertYou clenched your jaw as you watched her chest rise and fall easily, unburdened, as your right fist curled so tightly into itself that your knuckles turned as white as the snow that decorated the ground in the winter time. Nothing was stopping you now, nothingRe-write of the orignal by me





	

Clenching your jaw, you watched her chest rise and fall easily, unburdened. Your right fist curled so tightly into itself that your knuckles turned as white as the snow that decorated the ground in the winter time. Nothing was stopping you now, nothing, you could just reach out now. 

Sit on her waist, lean over her, watch the peaceful look in her eyes, watch her steady breathing. The fact she slept so easily, when you barely slept out of fear, hunger, hate. It angered you, sickened you. Yet, you could just as easily reach your hands out from where you would sit. Wrap your small hands around her neck, she was dead drunk, passed out, she wouldn’t feel it. Until you pressed all your weight down, not enough to crush her neck, but enough to obstruct her breaths. She’d sleep until she couldn’t breathe, her eyes would shoot open, coughing, choking. Try and claw you away, but you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t be deterred, instead holding tighter, clinging to that shred of hope. Your last chance. You would bruise, bleed but not stop. Not stop until her skin was cold against your hands. Her eyes dull, like your eyes. No light left in them. She took yours, only fair right?

But of course, there was more to it than what meets the eye; little details. Like the fact she was your mother, the fact you still loved her. No matter what. It was making it impossible to feel the anger you wished was there. To revel in the resentment that stirred deep within your chest, constantly writhing. It just, left as soon as you could grasp it within your hands.

Sighing deeply, in resignation, a sound that you swore echoed in these halls constantly. It felt like that was the only syllable that passed your lips anymore, that and curses. You trudged towards the home phone that was on the coffee table, promptly ignoring the peacefully passed out woman whose limbs splayed out across the beat-up sofa in your living room. That was clean only thanks to you. The licks of anger were reaching up to your mind and heating your blood. You shoved the fury down again, choking it down.

Grabbing the phone into your free right hand as you refrained from gritting your teeth so hard they’d turn to dust. You dialed the numbers that you could almost put in from muscle memory alone as your eyes roamed along the chipped white paint on the walls of your dark home. Absentmindedly wondering how much of a pain in the ass it would be to paint them. The phone rang in your grip as you heard the person pick up with a click, irritably asking what your business was.

Holding back another sigh or angry curses and the rude man, you quickly called your mother out of work. Her boss asked questions, but you were prepared, just like always. You lazily told him about how you had to go to the hospital the previous night because of a biking accident. How your mother had been so worried that she had neglected her own well-being and was now getting sleep that she had ignored the previous night. Painting your mother in the best possible light as her boss took the lie fed to him and wished both you and her well. Telling you that he’d cover her shift and that he would look forward to seeing her on her next shift.

Another frustrated noise escaped your lips, you hated lying, it tasted like a toxic poison on your tongue. Yet, you were gladly infected. Perfecting the art, using it constantly as if it were a drug. Your personal addiction. You gave a quick glance to your arm as you went back to angrily fiddling with the phone in your one hand. Your left arm was hanging awkwardly from your shoulder’s socket, your bones bending in inhuman angles. The story about your broken arm wasn’t a full lie, but you didn’t remember any hospital trip. All the medical assistance you remembered was a halfhearted attempt to reset the multiple breaks yourself, then abandoning the task and choosing to simple ignore the jolts of pain and the numb burning and tingling sensation the best you could. Hoping it would heal on its own… eventually. Could you even afford medical bills as extensive as yours would be by now?

Briefly, you wondered how you afforded anything in this house, between the drugs, alcohol, and the plain fact that your mother was calling out of work more often than she was actually going to work. How anything got paid was a miracle, how she kept her damn job was a miracle. You were grateful her boss hadn’t fired her yet, surprised, but still ever thankful that he put up with it. He must really be desperate for bodies if he was clinging to your mother like that. You were just glad that he did, if he did fire your mother that would mean both bill collectors and a frustrated and stressed out parent on your ass. This job, was good to both your well-being and the thinly woven peace of the house. You knew that peace would be broken eventually given time, withdrawals, and her various boyfriends, but the job always helped you to lace it back together more easily than if she were jobless.

A growl, your stomach complained its emptiness loudly for you to hear. You winced as you shakily pulled out a cereal bar from your pocket. It was your last one until you could steal another box from the delivery man. He never paid attention, so when he wasn’t looking you nabbed a box. Bad thing was, he only came on Fridays, and he was out sick last week. You’ve had to stick out a little  
less than two weeks on twelve bars. You still had three days left to Friday, but you were so hungry…

You made your decision as you shoved it haphazardly back into your pocket. You needed to be responsible, have patience. It nagged at you, burning a hole in your pocket as they saying went. You still ignored it; out of sight, out of mind. You were trying to distract yourself as you heard rapid knocking at your door.

Perking you head up, you grumbled to yourself and crossed your fingers as you tread with light footsteps to look through the peep-hole. There were three possibilities running through your head, guys your mother met at the bar, bad, cops, worse, and nosey neighbors, the worst possible option. You gripped the plastic phone tighter in your hand for luck as your opened the door the inch that your chain lock allowed.

Three burly guys, holding various weapons, backpacks on their strong shoulders was the first thing you saw. Not your mothers type, not cops, not neighbors, you’d never seen the likes of them before. Hikers or tourists or something was your best guess as of now, but you were wary of the gun in the first one’s grasp. You didn’t like it on your porch, or anywhere near you for that fact. 

“Hello? Can I help you?”


End file.
